


the most important thing

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Devil May Cry, DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Crossover, Gen, I loved DmC JSYK so this is not going to have bashing at all., whoops?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 05:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vergil is alive, which is good. Mundus is alive, which is not. And the walls of realities, weakened by Limbo and the human world combining, have allowed a deal to be struck across parallel worlds -- and it's going to take two devil hunters (well, a devil hunter and a demon killer) to handle this. As for the most important thing... Well, what do you think it is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the most important thing

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't planning on making this a chaptered fic -- okay I was a little bit, but I wasn't sure. Either way, I'm gonna do it because there's more than one scene I've been dying to write, and the world needs more DMC genfic. And also the world needs more DmC fic in general. And I refuse to believe classic!Dante would hate reboot!Dante. So there's that. ANYWAY, the first chapter is basically literally all Sparda family fluff. SO enjoy that before we get to plot.

_The last truly clear thing he remembered, as himself, was watching a flutter of red leather and white hair disappear as the cliff he’d leaped off of grew further away. After that his memories were hazed, muddy, like looking into a clouded pond. There were images there, fragmented and distorted and enough to make him grateful for the fog — if he truly remembered all that had been done to him, he wasn’t altogether sure his mind would survive. And his mind, at the moment, was all he had._

_The next clear memory was still a little distorted, but still vivid enough to make him remember it — sharp edges and too-bright colors all pain and confusion and demonic, Nelo Angelo bleeding away and Son of Sparda bleeding in, bruised and twisted mind lucid for several moments upon ice blue eyes meeting blazing red on a burnished metal chain — and then painpainpainpain oh god that’s dante stopstopthat’s brother don’t kill him — and then nothing._

_Well, that’s inaccurate. Almost nothing. Faint thoughts, as he slowly woke, and slowly realized in a sort of dreamlike fugue state, that he was only mind and soul, like so many other demons and devils his being had traveled into his blade — he slept now in Yamato. His mind healed slowly, caught between sleep and waking and unable to do aught else, as the blade had been shattered at some point in his time in hell. But it healed, and he thought. He thought, and he remembered, and he regretted._

_He didn’t know when things changed, time had been meaningless to him for an eternity now, but then something did. A presence, familiar but not, on the edges of his consciousness. A commotion, a battle, that insect scienist bleating like he did and then tang of blood and then — to his shock — a mind touched his. A boy, the familiarbutnot boy, his soul crying out in rage and pain, and when he touched that soul it was his demon half that nearly cried out in return — childspawnminemysonmyblood — but he was able to speak to the boy as a man, couldn’t help smiling at the child’s impertinence, the similarities he saw there in that moment’s contact._

_He felt like it would have been longer, but then a spell had ripped him out of the repaired katana (just as he could taste the boy’s Devil Trigger in the connection between devil arm and user) and thrown him like a slingshot back into his own body — Mundus. Mundus, badly weakened, badly defeated, but not dead. Mundus, who needed his enforcer, his dark knight, his black angel — cast a spell on the slowly repairing body to bring its soul back to it once the soul was whole. And so it was. But one thing the devil did not foresee, in his pride never considered: his knight’s mind no longer belonged to him. Nelo Angelo was no more, and never would be again. He was free, and he waited, biding his time until his body finished healing, until he could escape._

_He did, then, shedding the black armor and triggering almost instantly for the burst of power and speed it gave him, biting back an undignified whoop of vicious glee at the ebony metal plates spiraling away behind him, his last bonds ripped off of him like old bandages. But he had also, again, fallen prey to his foolish pride, like the arrogant youth who had unwisely challenged a demon lord — he had not accounted for pursuers. A whole pack of hunter demons, alpha and all, howling and screeching after him. He swore under his breath, near amused at the language he had picked up in the brief time spent observing his brother, and at the ease in which it slipped off his usually reserved tongue. But he had no time for gaiety — he had to flee. He was not fully healed yet, had no weapons…he could not fight back._

_So he ran, flew, as fast as he could, even as the demons’ knives bit at his flesh, their chain-whips caught at his arms and legs and wings. Flew towards his guiding beacon — the pulsing presence of his blade, Yamato’s warmth leading him (hopefully) someplace safe. Logically it was unlikely, but that instinctual part he was never quite rid of just kept urging him to that warmth, to home._

_The hellgate was on him before he could think, mind already too fogged with pain to register its approach, and then he was through the shimmer, and it was past noon, somewhere sunny and bright, the air fresh and cool and scented with grass and leaves — and he didn’t actually notice any of that, arms flinging up over his face as he hit the ground headfirst in a dive, barely managing to roll back to his feet before the hunters were on him like a swarm of insects and he went down with a roar._

_And then there was a burst of energy and a matching roar, filled with the intensity of an enraged devil, and in it he heard something he didn’t think he would hear again, didn’t think he deserved to hear again — a guttural scream of GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER._

\---------------------------------------

It had been pretty much a really, really boring day. Dante had turned up a couple days earlier, claiming to only be in Fortuna out of boredom and lack of work, but Nero had been a little suspicious. Not sure why — maybe he, too, had felt…something off. Nothing big, just a niggling little prickle at the back of his head hissing  _‘hey, dumbass, something’s gonna happen, pay attention’._

But nothing had. And so, the fourth day running, the two silver-haired men were perched on the roof of a building in a clearing in one of Fortuna’s forests, watching a hellgate continue to remain quiet and finishing up the lunch Kyrie had sent along.

“…Now, remind me again why we can’t smash the thing and call it a day?” Dante asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the tall, rectangular gate.

Nero rolled his eyes for the twelfth time that afternoon. “Answer hasn’t changed since you asked me an hour ago, jackass,” he replied, voice dripping with cheery sarcasm. “Because what’s left of the Order wants to handle it their way, which involves lots of explosives and lots of research, and lo and behold, two  _freaking_  years later, there’s still a couple they haven’t gotten to yet.” A pause, and an exaggerated sigh. “And I’m  _still_  getting them not to shoot me on sight just getting a glimpse of my arm — taking out a hellgate puts me back on square one, and you in the negatives.” As much as he hated it, he couldn’t use his full strength, couldn’t just let loose and wreck the thing: the Order – even the parts that were defending the city — still tended to see him as a demon, and he couldn’t do anything to further that notion. Even if it was safer for the whole damn city.

“Well, hey, it’s not like I care about my reputation,” Dante replied with a laugh. “I mean hell, if I did, I wouldn’t have pulled an action-movie stunt and capped Sanctus in the face in front of all of you.”

Another eyeroll. He was gonna start charging the older man for every time he made him do that. “Yeah, because that’s totally something to be proud of.”

“Sure is,” the half-devil replied, grinning. “It was  _awesome_. I—” He stopped, and both men were on their feet, staring at the hellgate as it woke, pulsing a dark purple through the crack. Rebellion and Red Queen were in their hands, watching the gate, waiting for the inevitable swarm of demons to pour out, straight into the welcome party of steel and bullets.

But there was no swarm, at least not yet. Instead, there was one demon, almost human sized, and it was covered in blood, nearly faceplanting in the dirt before the rest of the demons came out of the gate — raccoon-sized, monkeyish little things, knives and chain whips and baboon screeches echoing as they pounced, their victim disappearing under the horde.

“Hunter demons,” Dante said, eyes trained on the scene. ”Nasty little jerks, always travel in packs. Work for higher up demons. Usually controlled from afar by the alpha, who’s bigger, meaner, and is the one that gets the orders from the big boss.” His brow furrowed in confusion. ”Why they’d be chasing a demon all the way through a hellgate, though…”

Nero shrugged, not looking away either — wait til he knew what was going on — and trying to ignore the sick tugging in his chest that told him to  _get down there_  because he  _knew that demon_ , but he didn’t, so it was really weird. And that was weirder, right? “Is that the alpha?” He asked, pointing at the new arrival, which looked like the other hunters, only about as big as an elephant and carrying a claymore and a serrated bullwhip.

“What the fuck?” Came the response. ”Alpha hunters never personally go on hunts. This guy must be real—”

And for the second time that day, Dante stopped talking. A hunter had moved, and the half-devil had caught a glimpse of the prey — blue. Blue, human-sized, and that twist in his gut he’d refused to believe that told him  _family, danger, fight_ …ohgod.  _Ohgod._

 _No_.

Shock turned to disbelief turned to white-hot rage, thick and choking, and his devil trigger was up, the shockwave knocking Nero on his ass but he didn’t notice or care, already on the ground tearing head from body, limb from limb, roaring in fury – GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER. Blood splattered the ground around him, but he didn’t care about that, either, launching himself, crimson-dyed-crimson blur, at the alpha, not even aware of what he was howling because he was angrier then he could remember being in ages – it couldn’t be, it was impossible, but it was, it had to be, and no one fucking touched his family.

He didn’t really come back to himself until a bit later, and he realized with some sheepishness he was standing in the middle of the shattered hellgate, blood all over his chest and face and forearms, and he didn’t want to know where the alpha had gone, but there was a lot of blood all over those shattered bits of stone and he was just gonna go check on the demon – vergilitwasvergilohgod – and Nero now. Yep. Totally gonna pretend he hadn’t flipped out there.

Nero had knelt next to the figure, glancing up and raising eyebrows when Dante approached. “So, uh. That was kind of….” He paused. “Unnecessarily gory.”

“I was gonna supply the words totally apeshit, but hey, that works too,” Dante joked, but there wasn’t much humor in the voice and he leaned down, nudging the boy out of the way to roll the now painfully familiar devil over onto his back. There was a grunt, and blank, glowing, blue-green eyes pried themselves open. They didn’t seem to focus at first, taking several long blinks before eyes slid towards Nero – their owner’s mind, clogged with pain, only able to think _sonchildmysonheresafegoodson_  – before sliding over to Dante. And then the demon exhaled, the sight of that face jarring him out of his half-consciousness in order to speak – voice distorted by the trigger and pain and exhaustion, but Dante would know it anywhere.

“Dan…te?” It asked, as if it wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t hallucinating.

Dante swallowed, suddenly painfully aware of how dry his mouth had just gotten, and it took him a moment to reply with a question of his own, somehow just as hoarse. “Vergil..?”

The blue devil nodded, once, a demon’s approximation of a smile (or a smirk? hard to tell) flashing across its face, and Dante blinked. Once, twice. And his mouth twitched. And then Nero was pretty damn sure that if the older man hadn’t lost it when he went completely homicidally whacko on those hunter demons, he had utterly snapped now, his legs giving out under him as he dropped to his knees, starting to laugh. Laugh so hard it almost sounded like Dante was going to choke on his own hysteric, wheezing, painful laughter, doubled over with his shoulders shaking, and Nero was going to ignore the sobs that crept into it and the teardrops on the dirt.

“You— you’re— you fucking asshole, you do know you’re supposed to be dead, right?” Dante managed, voice high and shaking and threatening to lose its uncertain stability at any second. “I killed you. You’re. Vergil…Verge, how…fuck. Fuck me.  _How_?”

The demon shifted, and if Nero didn’t know better – or did he – it looked…uncomfortable. Wary. Watching Dante like it wasn’t sure if it was going to get shot or not. With its injuries, it took it a moment to speak, its hoarse voice stopstarting in exhaustion. “He’s…he’s not dead, Dante,” it began slowly, and though Nero had no idea who ‘he’ was, Dante’s eyes widened and his fists clenched and he looked half-tempted to rip open a hellgate right there and go kill whoever it was. “When you…” He gestured, not wanting to say it aloud for both their sakes. “My soul…went into the Yamato. When it was repaired…” A glance at Nero that made him suddenly self-conscious. “A spell…Mundus cast…pulled me back to my body. He…had restored it. He is weak, damaged…needed his  _enforcer_.” The last few words dripped with such sharp bitterness that all three men were surprised it could manage. “I bided my time until I was recovered enough…and escaped.”

Dante nodded slowly, and there was a very drawn-out silence that made even Nero unsure what the older man was about to do. “So Mundus isn’t dead,” he said finally, even his voice oddly unreadable. “Bastard. We’re just gonna have to kill him again, then, I guess.”

Silence. Then: “…We?”

“Well, yeah,” Dante replied, still unreadable, though his voice made it sound as if his words were the most obvious thing in the world. “You, me, and the kid probably. Can you stand? Gonna need to get you back to the city.”

In a strange, almost funny sort of synchronicity, Nero and the demon – and Vergil – exchanged a bewildered look that (at least in Nero’s case) screamed ‘what the hell is he thinking’. Vergil glanced back at Dante, shaking his head. “I don’t think so,” he admitted reluctantly. “I…used most of my strength…just getting here.”

“Uh…can’t you release your Devil Trigger— that is a Devil Trigger, right?” Nero asked, a little confused. “It’ll probably be easier to get you to the city when you do, and, uh…the guards will probably freak out a hell of a lot less.” Because he was one thing, Dante was one thing, but a demon like Vergil appeared to be? Hahaha, no, that wouldn’t end well for any of them.

Vergil shook his head, but it was Dante who answered. “No, don’t think he can. He’s too injured – we heal faster triggered, and he’s healing damn slow as it is. Probably overload his healing factor if he released it.” He sighed. “Got a point about the city, though. Shit.”

Nero frowned, but then his eyes widened with an idea, Vergil’s words from just before coming back to him –  _My soul went into the Yamato._  “…Hey.” He said slowly. “I, uh. Don’t actually know how Devil Arms work, but…if you were in the Yamato for a bit, would you still be connected to it? You think having it would help, or something?”

The brothers exchanged a surprised look, and then Vergil nodded slowly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But…it’s an idea.” Without a further word, Nero shifted position, holding out his Devil Bringer and letting the katana shimmer into his hand from wherever it went. Immediately the demon’s eyes went to it, and the catch in its breath was audible. Nero was almost reluctant to hand it over – not because of its power, but mostly the weird, familiar sort of warmth holding it gave him – but he did, setting it in the outstretched blue claw, devil hand to devil hand. Fingers brushed as the sword exchanged hands, a blue spark crackled for a second, and though Vergil was used to the sensation ( _sonchildminespawnmine_ ), Nero nearly jerked his hand away, almost bowled over by the…the demonic instinct that growled through him on contact with Vergil ( _familymineinjuredfamilyprotect_ ). His widened eyes stared at the demon for a second, nearly saying something, but words didn’t seem right, so he fell silent and watched as its wounds closed themselves with the rapidity he was used to seeing.

As soon as the pain was manageable, as soon as he could release the trigger, he did. Dante made a noise in the back of his throat as the blue lightning danced over hard demonic scales and carapace, shifting it back to cloth and flesh. And there sat his twin, alive. Seeing him in trigger was one thing; he could still doubt, still be unsure who he was seeing, but now? Now it was confirmed. Now he  _knew_  it was his brother. He hadn’t changed much at first glance, still wearing the same clothing he had last seen him in, though it was tattered and bloody, the once elegant blue coat stained with who knew what. His hair was down, not swept back, and it was looking in a mirror, something that made his heart skip a beat. Vergil was looking down at his hands, one clutching the katana almost white-knuckled, the other open and flexing experimentally, the half-devil overwhelmed with being himself – being a  _man_  – for the first time in what felt like centuries. Then he looked up at Dante, blue eyes meeting identical blue, and he could see the age and tiredness in Vergil’s shadowed eyes, the toll the years had taken visible in his paleness, the lines on a face older ( _his_  age, he’d aged alongside his brother somehow) but still too young to have them.

And then Dante had tackled him, springing forward before his brother could react, and his arms were around him in a deathgrip, face buried in Vergil’s shoulder, hands bunched in blue cloth and clinging so tightly he was shaking. Vergil stiffened, having expected an attack of some kind, but then relaxed by degrees as he realized it was only a hug – only a  _hug._  Physical contact with his twin, who he had been half-convinced hated him. It was  _instinctive_ , then, to return the gesture, dropping Yamato gently next to him before wrapping his own arms around his twin, tucking his own head in the crook of his twin’s neck. This was the closest they had been since the loss of their mother, they both registered dimly. The demon in them was triumphant, protective, _brothertwinhereatlastherenotlettinggominemytwin_ , and the scent of the other – Dante’s gunpowder and blood and beer and the tang of demon, Vergil’s steel and some sort of Eastern spice and blood and the same demonic tang –  nearly overpowering in its proximity after all this time.

They might have stayed like that for who knew how long, just clinging to the other with the desperation of having lost each other for so long (Dante had thought forever), if it weren’t for Nero coughing nervously. “Uh…we should head back. You guys can talk when we get back to my apartment, right…?”

Dante reluctantly let go of Vergil first, levering himself to his feet and helping his twin up before trotting over to grab Rebellion from where he’d dropped it – belatedly remembering he’d been covered in blood and now so was Vergil, and deciding it wasn’t important – while Vergil retrieved Yamato from the ground. The silence that fell was more companionable than it was awkward, despite the glances Nero kept shooting the new addition to the trio of hunters. It was just…strange. That feeling when their hands had touched for a moment, that— that certainty it had given him, that the man he’d seen when he had triggered the first time in Agnus’s lab, the figure that he’d spoken to…was Vergil. It was really weird, and the suspicions he was beginning to have weren’t helping. Was he…no, he wasn’t gonna ask. Too weird.

Dante finally spoke up, gesturing at the boy. “Oh, right, you should probably let your girlfriend know we’ve got a guest,” he said with a grin, making Nero flush and Vergil raise his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Nero muttered, but stepped away from the twins to pull out his cell and call Kyrie. As he spoke quietly into the phone, the twins glanced at each other and Vergil finally spoke, the first time since he’d released his trigger; Dante had to smile as both the distortion and pain were gone from his voice, and he finally definitively sounded like he remembered.

“Dante, how long has it been since…” He trailed off, unsure which event in his memory to measure time against. “How long has it been?”

His brother glanced over at him, the grin that had settled onto his face not fading, though there was a flash of seriousness in his eyes. “Well, it’s been about eight years since Mallet Island,” he began. “So, uh…almost twenty since Temen-ni-Gru.” He paused to do mental math. “Eighteen, I think. Yeah. God, I’m getting old.”

“Eighteen years,” Vergil repeated. That meant ten years in hell. Ten years he couldn’t – didn’t want to – account for, and…. “How long since Yamato was repaired?”

“Oh, right. It’s been two since then,” Dante answered. “They’re still fixing this damn place up after what happened.”

 _So six years in Yamato,_  Vergil thought, nodding absently as he looked around at the stone architecture the forest had been replaced by. “This is Fortuna, isn’t it?” He asked – he knew, really. He already knew, given the boy’s presence, but a confirmation would be…reassuring.

“…Yeah, it’s Fortuna,” Dante said slowly. “How’d you figure?” Vergil’s eyes slid unconsciously over to Nero, and if Dante hadn’t already half-guessed it, he would have fallen over. Even so, his eyes still widened comically. “So he really  _is_ —”

A single nod. “He is.” He paused, eyes sliding back to Dante. “How old is he?”

“Uh…shit, one sec.” Dante did some more math, shrugging. “Nineteen, I think. That works out, doesn’t it?”

That was the last bit of confirmation he needed, honestly – Fortuna, the age…his instincts and the boy’s appearance had made it obvious, but those two facts were needed for Vergil’s logical mind to fully acknowledge the truth. His son. Walking a few paces away from them, still talking on the phone and making Vergil wonder if he was listening in to the others’ conversation. (The little piece of plastic bewildered Vergil slightly, and he was both somewhat curious as to the obvious advancements in technology in the time he’d been away, and studiously not caring about  _human-made_  objects. Though his desire to increase his knowledge would likely win out over the knee-jerk distaste, it was still a habit he probably wouldn’t break, nor did he want to.)

The city gates finally came in sight, and the guards let them pass with only mildly bemused frowns. Nero led them to an out of the way apartment building and up the stairs to the third floor, unlocking the door and letting them in. “We’re back, Kyrie!” He called, and a moment later a  young woman came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and smiling at them.

“Welcome back, Nero. Hello, Dante,” she said, glancing from her boyfriend to the older hunter, before looking over at Vergil and smiling, not at all nervous. She’d gotten used to Dante’s presence by now, and Nero had told her over the phone who the other man was (and of the suspicions he didn’t want to voice to either twin), so she wasn’t frightened. Slightly intimidated, maybe, but that was mitigated by her concern at the state of his clothes and his obvious weariness. “Vergil, right? It’s nice to meet you,” she told him, noting his surprise at her friendly greeting, before addressing the trio (mostly for Vergil’s benefit, though it didn’t hurt to remind the other two). “You know the rules, weapons by the door, and coats on the rack – especially _yours_ , Dante,” she added, frowning at the blood on the red leather. The boys obeyed, Nero smirking at Dante and Vergil reluctantly leaving Yamato with Rebellion and Nero’s sword (he was, however, impressed at the girl’s ability to keep the two others in line, despite seeming so fragile; and also at the little alcove by the door clearly made to store the weapons, a gun rack that now held the boy’s gun, as well as Ebony and Ivory, and the mountings that they had left their swords on).

She continued speaking, watching the three men with a mildly amused smile. “If you want to clean up, boys, you can – Nero, you can use the shower in my room so Vergil can use yours, if that’s okay?” He nodded, and she smiled slightly. “I think I have some spare clothes you can wear, Vergil, I’ll leave them on Nero’s bed for you.” The clothes actually had belonged to Credo, some of the things she’d saved when she and Nero had moved into the apartment – she knew only Nero knew that, and it was her own subtle way of welcoming Vergil to their family. After all, she had just needed to  _look_  at the two of them to know that the suspicions Nero had were correct.

The three boys all broke off to the respective bathrooms, and Kyrie stepped into the storage room to retrieve a pair of dark jeans and a blue dress shirt from the boxes she kept Credo’s old things in – it still hurt, a little, to go through his things, but the pain had eased over the years since it happened, and she was stronger than most people gave her credit for. She left them as promised on Nero’s bed, and returned to the kitchen to finish the cookies she’d been baking for the people still at the shelters.

She had just finished putting the last of them in the containers, when she glanced up to see Dante, dressed in his ‘my normal clothes are dirty’ outfit of faded jeans and a band t-shirt (AC/DC this time), sliding into a chair in the kitchen. Wordlessly, she handed him one of the extra cookies she’d made for the household (chocolate, of course; the silver-haired men in her life all seemed to share a sweet tooth), and he grinned at her. “Thanks, o goddess of the kitchen,” he teased. “I’d kidnap you to cook for me, but Nero would probably explode.”

“Probably,” she agreed, smiling and sitting across from him. “And you should really learn to cook for yourself, you know. It’s not healthy to live off of pizza and takeout.” This was a conversation the two had had many times before, and at this point Dante just grinned at her, both of them knowing he wouldn’t listen.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” she noted, changing the subject. “Is it because of Vergil?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Hell yeah, it is. I mean, I…I thought he was dead,” he admitted, voice dropping slightly. “Spent ten years worrying, not knowing what happened, and then eight more thinking he was dead. Whoever says not knowing is worse is full of shit,” he added. “But…here he is. Alive. Talking to me. Not trying to kill me. It’s…I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up. I mean, pinched myself and everything, but here I am, and there he is.”

“You’re not mad at him?” She asked, a little surprised at his admission. “I don’t know what he did, but…if he tried to kill you…?”

Dante shrugged. “We were young and stupid. Sure, I was pissed the hell off at him back then, wanted to beat the shit out of him, wait ‘til he healed, and beat his ass all over again. But…that was a while ago. I don’t actually care about that anymore, I’m just glad he’s here. Not that I don’t wanna know why, still, I just stopped being pissed. I don’t think I’ve been pissed at him for ages.” Not since Mallet Island, is what he tended to tell everyone, though in reality…he’d stopped being angry the moment the hellgate closed between them nearly twenty years ago.

“That’s good,” Kyrie smiled, standing to remove her apron. “I have to go pick up things for dinner,” she told him. “You like strawberries, right?” He nodded, eyebrow rising. “Does Vergil like the same thing?”

Dante snorted. “ _Oh_  yeah. You should have been witness to the epic battles we used to have when we were little over who got the last bite of dessert. He and I have the same kinda sweet tooth, though Verge has got a hell of an addiction to chocolate, if I remember right.”

Kyrie laughed, nodding. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him, heading over to get her purse and coat. “Let Nero know where I went, alright?” She asked, and he nodded. She waved, smiling again, and disappeared into the early evening, leaving Dante to wander over and flop on the couch. He kicked his bare feet up on the armrest, leaning back with a sigh and stretching, stifling a yawn.

His eyes were actually about to droop closed, when there were footsteps, and Vergil appeared in the entranceway to the room. He looked like himself again, Dante registered, his borrowed clothes neat and immaculate as he always tried to be, his hair swept back from his face in his bid to look different from his brother. He really had somehow aged alongside Dante, neither of them the gangly teens of two decades ago – though while both of them had grown tall and broad-shouldered, Vergil was still leaner than Dante, thinner and more slender while the younger of the two was built like a warrior. Vergil also looked older than his years, eyes still shadowed and face still lined. Their eyes met, and Dante just grinned, sitting up and opening his arms. “C’mere, asshole. We have catching up to do.”

Vergil blinked, moving over to sit next to his brother despite his surprise, and to his credit didn’t tense up when Dante slung his arms around him, dragging him closer and resting his head on top of his older twin’s. “Clingy as always,” he muttered, though he wasn’t at all annoyed (quite the opposite, though he’d never say it).

“Like a monkey,” Dante joked back, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness in his voice. “Hey, I’m not letting you out of my sight til I’m sure you’re not gonna disappear on me, got that? I’m still working on convincing myself you’re really here, so expect to be clung to. And no, not sorry.”

“You’re never sorry,” Vergil replied with a soft snort of amusement, before the two fell silent. After a long moment, he continued, startling Dante. “ _I_  am, though.”

Dante blinked. “You’re what?” He asked, though he was kind of sure he knew, and mostly couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Sorry,” Vergil answered, confirming it. “I’m sorry, Dante.”

Another blink, and he pulled away slightly to look at his brother. “Sorry for what?” He asked, amused. “For being a stupid teenager? You’re forgiven. And yeah, even for the trying to kill me bit. It’s all good, bro. Don’t apologize.”

“I  _want_  to,” Vergil said firmly. “So shut up and let me.” Dante looked amused again, nearly laughing at his brother (happy to hear him being as he remembered), but nodded. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I was…foolish, back then. Foolish and arrogant. My mistake was…I should have told you everything. My stubborn pride wouldn’t let me, and…I fell. So, for that, I am sorry.”

That…was not what Dante had expected to hear, and his amusement faded into genuine confusion. “Tell me everything what?” He asked. “What are you talking about, Verge?”

“I…my plans,” he explained, and Dante’s arms almost unconsciously tightened around him. “I was seeking Father’s power…his blade…I was seeking our legacy to challenge Mundus. To kill him.” He let Dante process that before he continued, cutting off anything his younger brother was about to say. “I sought Father’s power in order to destroy Mundus, and I told you nothing of that goal, let you assume what you would, draw false conclusions from what I said and from Arkham. I should have told you, but I did not.”

Dante swallowed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” He demanded quietly. “I would handed the damn amulet over easy, and we could’ve went after his stupid ass together, and I wouldn’t have lost you. If you’d just freaking  _told_  me, this would’ve been so much easier—”

“And we  _both_  would have died,” Vergil cut him off again. “Neither of us was strong enough, even with Father’s blade. We would have both fallen. I knew that even then, but I…I ignored my own common sense, thought I could kill him, at least weaken him.” His voice lowered, haltingly. “I wanted to spare you that. If I killed him, you would remain safe. If not, you would be alive to grow strong enough to do what I could not. I did not expect him to…to create Nelo Angelo. I thought…it doesn’t matter. I had my reasons to keep my goals from you, foolish as they were. I don’t regret my reasons, though I am sorry for…I’m sorry.” He would never be sorry for wanting to protect Dante, but he was sorry his pride had ended up hurting his little brother more than the truth would probably have. He was sorry for making him mourn his brother, and for making it so that they had had to fight on Mallet, so that Dante had to kill him. He was sorry for causing Dante pain, though he was not sorry for trying to protect him.

Dante seemed to realize at least part of this, looking incredulous. “You…you did all that, summoned the tower, tried to kill me, broke the seal, stayed in hell…all to  _protect_   _me_?” He asked, and was given the answer in a nod. Dante swallowed, staring at him, before he let out a bark of laughter and lifted a hand to swat Vergil hard across the back of his head. “You fucking  _dumbass._  I can’t  _believe_ — goddamn, and you’re so good at pretending you don’t give a shit, you sentimental asshole.  _Protecting_  me— Christ. Just…Christ, Vergil.”

The elder twin was almost afraid, for a moment, that Dante was mad at him, but the hug that followed, one tight enough to break the bones of any normal human, told him otherwise. “You…aren’t angry?” Vergil asked, surprised (once he could breathe). “I thought you would be…that you would hate me for what I’ve done…”

“Nope,” Dante said, not letting go. “Sure, I was pissed – and right now I’m damn annoyed – but hate you? Never. Can’t. Not happening.” He paused, grinning softly. “Remember what Mom told us, once? We’re family. We’re brothers. We  _can’t_  hate each other. We’re family, remember?”

Vergil’s mouth twitched, knowing the memory he referred to. “And family will always love each other,” he replied quietly, quoting their mother. It was true. Dante was an annoying, obnoxious, reckless idiot, with a terrible sense of humor and no sense of hygiene, who drank and was lewd and was generally the kind of brother he wanted to strangle more often than not, but…still his brother. And he loved him enough to go to hell and back – literally – to protect him.

“Exactly,” Dante replied. Vergil was a cold, arrogant son of a bitch sometimes, and was an insufferable know-it-all and neat freak, and he doubted the other twin would ever really like humans much, and he really  _had_  tried to kill him a couple times and despite his reasons, he  _had_ still tried to open a hellgate…but he has his brother. He hadn’t hated him while climbing that stupid tower, knew he never would, and he still didn’t. He would have leaped through a hellgate and slaughtered everything in between him and Mundus if he’d known where Vergil had been, really, and didn’t that say it all?

There was a silence, and then Dante dragged Vergil into another hug, and the elder sighed, leaning against him quietly. A few moments passed, and then Dante blinked, reluctantly disentangling himself from Vergil to get up. “I just remembered something,” he said. “One sec.” he moved over to the red leather coat on its hook, rummaging in pockets until he found what he was looking for, coming back over and settling in before holding it out to Vergil – his half of the amulet, its red stone and gold chain sitting innocently in Dante’s palm. “You dropped it on Mallet,” he explained quietly. “It’s how I knew it was you. I hung onto it, but here. It’s yours, after all.” His free hand shifted to his collar, tugging the silver chain of his own out to show that he had his, smiling slightly.

Vergil returned the faint smile, taking his amulet and putting it back around his neck, tucking it under his own shirt and letting his hand rest on it a moment. “Thank you,” he said quietly, both twins knowing what those amulets meant to them. Silence reigned for another long few minutes, the two just content to sit there and enjoy the closeness of their twin, closer than they’d been since they were children, making up for all the decades of distance.

“So…” Dante said, finally. “Nero’s your kid. I’m still kinda boggling, but…I did kinda suspect. I mean, I’ve never been to Fortuna, and it makes sense that you’d have stopped in ‘cause of the whole ‘they worship the old man’ thing, and besides which there’s the whole Yamato thing, and he gives me the same damn looks you do, so…but seriously. Still boggled.”

Vergil chuckled quietly, before growing serious. “I didn’t know,” he admitted. “I only found out when our souls met a moment, when his energy repaired Yamato. I knew immediately, then. I hadn’t known before. But…” There was a pause. “He seems to have done well, growing up. More like you than I’m quite happy with, though. But I really don’t have any right to complain, do I? I wasn’t there.” There was a bitterness in his voice that Dante recognized immediately – the bitterness that he’d felt so acutely for years…the bitterness at the old man. At Sparda, for leaving them. For not being there. Yeah, Vergil must be feeling pretty bad…he’d ended up being like his father, after all, in a way that wasn’t a good one.

“It’s not your fault,” Dante told him. “You didn’t know, man. And even if you had…you were in hell for a decade, and  _then_  trapped in a sword. You couldn’t be there if you  _wanted_  to.” He knew what he was saying might just apply to Dad, too, but…he’d stopped hating Sparda a while ago. Not sure when, but at some point he had forgiven him. “It’s not your fault.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, seeming to sense the double meaning in the words, and sighed. “If I had known, my plans might have changed,” he said. “If I had known there was another to protect…”

“Bull, you would’ve done the same thing,” Dante said with a snort. “I know you. It would have just made you more set on killing Mundus so he wouldn’t touch your brother  _or_  your kid. And that’s okay. You’re a dumbass, we know this.” He grinned. “It’s all good.”

There was another silence, Vergil just frowning in disbelief, before a cough interrupted them. Twin heads turned to see Nero leaning in the doorway, in his own casual wear of sweatpants and a sleeveless red shirt, his Devil Bringer fully exposed. Vergil gave the arm a once-over, curious – it was all hard red carapace and faint glowing blue, coming to a point at the elbow and trailing up to fade into flesh midway up his upper arm. His eyes flickered from the arm to Nero’s face; the boy was staring at him just as intently, and it was rather obvious that he had heard most of the conversation. “Nero,” he said quietly.

Dante let go of Vergil, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go, uh…iron my dog,” he joked cheerily. “You guys have fun!” With that, he proceeded to disappear into the other room, leaving father and son staring at each other awkwardly.

“…So,” Nero said, breaking the silence and laughing nervously. “Hi, Dad.” There was a pause where they managed to exchange awkward smiles, and Nero continued, edging over to the couch. “I, uh…honestly, I kinda had it figured that you were. The feelings I got…and I could use your sword— hell, I  _fixed_  your sword. And…I dunno. I just knew.” He paused, sitting down on the arm rest. “I’m not mad at you, in case you were wondering. I didn’t know my mom, either. I grew up in an orphanage in Fortuna, uh…Kyrie’s parents didn’t adopt me, but they took care of me, and when they died, her older brother did.” He shrugged. “I was  _never_  really pissed at my birth parents, actually. It was just…I kinda just never thought about it much. This arm didn’t happen ‘til a few years before I met Dante, so I never thought they left me because of  _that_ …I just didn’t think about it. I don’t think I thought it mattered.”

Vergil nodded slowly, not sure what to say. It wasn’t like he remembered his own father to know how to act, what to do. This wasn’t something he knew how to handle, and that annoyed him if he were honest. He liked being in control, and this was…decidedly not. Then again, neither of them were. Both just fumbling around and trying to figure out how to relate to a family member they never thought they would have, let alone meet. “I…suppose an apology is unnecessary, then, though I feel as if I should give one,” he admitted. “You seem to have done well for yourself, though, so, I’m…I’m glad for that.”

Nero didn’t want to voice the knee-jerk ‘are you proud of me’ that came to his lips; it was stupid. What was there to be proud of? He hadn’t known his dad a full day yet. He shifted instead, watching Vergil watch him, kind of at a loss.

“Thank you for taking care of Yamato,” Vergil added softly. “It is my father’s.” He shifted to look at the boy, who seemed surprised. “I am glad to have it back, but I am just as glad that Dante allowed you to use it. You…I’m sure you used it well.” he knew the boy had; he was his son. If anyone besides Dante were allowed to use Yamato, had the  _skill_  to use Yamato…it was him. Nero seemed to flush at the praise implicit in his words, and for some reason that made Vergil himself…happy? Odd. Was this what being a father entailed? Part of him missed his own father all the more, but part of him was simply content that he was able to have this now.

The silence seemed more companionable now, and Vergil’s eyes again moved towards the Devil Bringer, and he lifted a hand to touch it gently, fingers pressing against the dark red carapace. Nero jumped slightly, blinking, and looked down, flexing his claws automatically. “It’s, uh…I don’t really know why it happened, or how…or what it’s for, honestly,” he told his father. “I have some ideas, but. I dunno. My Devil Trigger doesn’t look like yours or Dante’s either, it’s different. Guess it’s ‘cause I’m only, what…quarter demon?” He shrugged. “It was…kinda hard to deal with at first, but it doesn’t bother me like it used to.”

“I’m sorry it gave you trouble,” Vergil said, running a single finger along the pale blue line that shot up the arm from the back of the hand to the elbow. “It is most likely something to do with your demonic heritage, though I don’t know what exactly.” He paused, lifting his eyes again and voice quiet but firm. “You should  _not_  be ashamed of it, however. I see no reason for you to be. It is a mark of your lineage; of Sparda’s blood. Especially one who grew up in Fortuna, that worships him…they should not have treated you ill for it.” Hell, these people were so wrapped up in their Sparda-based religion, they should well have treated Nero like a  _prince._  But the boy’s expression told him they had not, and he couldn’t help the growl that slipped out. Hypocrites.

Nero smiled, a little touched (if mildly weirded out by the growl) by Vergil’s annoyed protectiveness. “Thanks,” he said, letting the arm relax. “I mean, Kyrie likes it, so…that’s kind of the only opinion that matters to me. Screw the Order.” Okay, so it did still bug him that they looked at him funny. But he was working on it. It’s not like he cared what they thought of him aside from the arm…right? Working on it.

“Kyrie…the girl,” Vergil noted. “She seems to be stronger than her appearance suggests.” He had a distaste  for humans as a general rule, and always would – why think of most of them as anything but weak, fragile, greedy, and selfish, when most of them were? – but he could acknowledge when he met the rare soul who was not. It made humans worth putting up with, the knowledge that there were occasionally people who managed to earn a modicum of his respect. Like his mother, like the woman he had encountered on his visit to Fortuna (Nero’s mother), like Arkham’s daughter, and like the seemingly weak girl that loved his son, demon arm and all, and was able to apparently cow his twin brother into obeying her.

Nero nodded. “Yeah…she’s pretty great,” he said fondly. As if on cue, though, the girl in question unlocked the door and entered the house, arms full of groceries. Nero blinked up at her and grinned, hopping to his feet to grab some bags. “Hey, there,” he said, kissing her cheek, and she smiled.

“Hey,” she said warmly. “Help me get the bags in the kitchen, will you? I should start dinner.” She glanced at Vergil, still sitting on the couch, and smiled at him, nodding. “Will you help? I don’t really trust Dante in the kitchen, and it’s hard for Nero to do some things with one arm.”

He stood, nodding. “Of course,” he replied. It was a silent acknowledgment of her, really, his acquiescence to help. She had taken care of his son, and he’d help her in return. Besides, he didn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and the sooner they finished cooking, the sooner he could remedy that.

The two men helped Kyrie in the kitchen as she made dinner, though as soon as it was cooking, she shooed them out of the kitchen so she could make her ‘surprise’. When they got back into the living room, Dante was back on the couch, and he grinned, waving. “Yo,” he said with a chuckle. “How’s the bonding going, guys?”

“Shut up, Dante,” the two said nearly in unison, and Dante looked affronted. Then all three started laughing (though for Vergil it was more a quiet chuckle). Then Dante rocked himself to his feet, slinging his arms around Nero and Vergil’s shoulders with another laugh.

“Cute, real cute, you two. I’m the twin here,  _we’re_  the ones supposed to do the freaky twin shit,” he teased, mockingly insulted. “Don’t you steal my spotlight, kiddo.”

Nero just stuck out his tongue. “Make me,  _Uncle_  Dante,” he said teasingly, and Dante growled playfully, locking his arm around his nephew to give him a rough hair-ruffle.

They joked around for a little while, Vergil watching with mild amusement, before Kyrie finally called them all in to eat. Dinner was good (though Vergil was probably biased, as it was the first thing he could recall eating in a very long time), and then she brought out her surprise – a chocolate strawberry shortcake, explaining that it was in celebration of Dante getting his brother back and Nero meeting his father.

“…Holy shit,” Dante said after a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from the confection sitting on the table. “Keep her, Nero, or I am totally kidnapping her. Holy shit. It’s…it’s  _glorious_.”

Kyrie blushed, smiling. “I thought you’d like it,” she said with a laugh, glancing over at Vergil to see that though he was quiet, his face held a similar expression of amazed want to what Dante wore. “He told me you liked chocolate,” she explained, and he glanced at Dante almost gratefully.

The three boys managed to devour three-fourths of the cake between them, with Kyrie contently helping herself to a slice from the quarter left before putting it away. They all went to bed after that, or at least Vergil did, exhaustion finally settling in as he padded off to the guest room (not really considering that he would be sharing it with Dante) and got into the bed, rolling over onto his side without pulling the covers over himself and slipping into a doze.

He was woken an indeterminate amount of time later by someone climbing into bed next to him, and a warm arm draping over him – he stiffened, but relaxed immediately when he recognized his brother’s scent. “Dante,” he mumbled, rolling over to look at him. The other twin grinned, shifting to bonk his forehead against his brother’s.

“Go back to sleep, bro,” he said. “Just like old times, isn’t it?” Just like when they were children, climbing into bed together during storms, or when one had a bad dream. And now here they were, older and wiser and having seen more than most people should, and they were sharing a bed like no time had passed. It was comforting, really, and he tucked his head under his brother’s chin, closing his eyes again as Dante tugged him closer.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he mumbled into Dante’s chest, and he could feel his brother’s contentment at that. “Not again.”

\-----------------------------------

The next morning found three people curled in the guest room bed instead of two; Nero had wandered in on a whim during the night and slipped around to Vergil’s other side, and sometime during the night he had rolled over on his back, so his head was resting on Vergil’s shoulder. Vergil himself was the first to wake, and finding himself almost nestled in between his brother and his son, he smiled slightly and closed his eyes again, content for now to just enjoy the moment. The day could wait – this was more important right now.

He wasn’t going to forget what was most important again – it wasn’t power, never had been, though for a time he’d convinced himself it was. No, the most important thing – to his mother, to his father, and now he realized it, too, and so did Dante – was  _family_.


End file.
